


Under the Surface

by smutty_claus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Love Potion/Spell, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21920785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutty_claus/pseuds/smutty_claus
Summary: When the Weasleys’ Christmas party ends with Harry and Hermione in bed together, thanks to the help of a love potion, their entire relationship is changed forever, and they are forced to face some hard truths and figure out just where they go from here.
Relationships: Harry/Hermione
Comments: 8
Kudos: 142
Collections: Smutty Claus Exchange





	Under the Surface

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frumpologist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/gifts).



> First, thank you to the mods! This is one of my very favorite fests, and I’m going to miss it so much, but thank you for all the many years of holiday smut, and thank you for running this fest for so long! Second, thank you to A for the brainstorming help and for calming me down when my muse got out of control and for the beta. And last, but definitely not least, to for some amazing prompts and tropes and likes. I was having so much fun, I ended up trying to incorporate as many as I possibly could. I really hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Based on the prompts _A drinking game goes awry when someone pulls out a magical concoction to get the party started_ and _"I still haven’t figured out how to sit across from you and not be madly in love with everything you do." — William C Hannan_

It came back to him in a blur, like someone lifting a hex from his brain. He sat up sharply in bed — not his bed and not his room — and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror against the opposite wall.

His hair was tousled. Something maroon shone on his cheek.

_Lips curving into a smile, hair moving toward him. Lips meeting. Tongues dueling._

He stared around him in a panic. A comforter on the floor. Sheets strewn everywhere.

_Her back hitting the bed. A small gasp from her mouth. Fingers on her breasts. His head between her legs._

Something red lay on the floor, crumpled in a heap.

_Slim fingers unbuttoning his shirt. That magical laugh. “You could just use your wand.” “Or I could just use my fingers. And my mouth.”_

His hands moved over the sheets that were bundled around him. Searching and searching.

_The waving of a wand. Watching her float in midair, her legs apart. Her wand inside her, moving just how he instructed it._

He pulled his wand out from under a pillow, looking around again. There was no sign she had ever been here. No cloak, no dress, no shoes, no wand. Not even the little beaded bag she still carried everywhere.

_Tightening around him. His name on her lips. Her body trembling. Her eyes closed. Making her come. Two, three, four times. Arms around him, a head on his chest._

He glanced down, studied his naked body. There, by his thighs, two tiny prints, from thumbs pressing into him. 

It wasn’t a dream.

_It wasn’t a dream._

He flopped backward on to the bed, his arm over his face, his heart thumping in his chest.

What had he done?

\--

_It was a winter wonderland outside — feet of white, fluffy, newly fallen snow covered the path to the Weasleys’ flat on the outside of London, trees gleamed white and bright in the setting sun and children could be heard laughing down the street as snowballs zipped, sometimes by magic, through the air — but inside their residence, it was warm and merry and bright and full of holiday cheer and merriment. Everything Harry had always loved about the Burrow seemed to have been transferred to the pad that Ron, George and Percy now shared (mostly in harmony, sometimes just barely managing to keep from killing each other), and it made him feel right at home._

_Harry was standing by the front window, watching gentle flakes drift down from the sky. The mug of Firewhisky heated his hands, and he felt warm inside and out._

_Hermione stood by his side, smiling and laughing as she, too, watched the snowflakes falling while she told him about the latest fiasco — this one at least humorous — in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement._

_In the background, the other people at the pre-Christmas party laughed and drank and sometimes shouted over bits of conversation that Harry couldn’t really make out from where he was standing._

_Everything was good, though. For once, he didn’t feel so alone, so lonely. For once, he was standing here with all his friends instead of getting hurried promises that they would Owl Post soon when work was less busy or they should meet for dinner because it had been too long. For once, he didn’t miss Hogwarts with a kind of aching pain when he would think about how he, Ron and Hermione had once been inseparable, before life and loss and the horror of war had gotten in the way._

_A voice broke into his thoughts and into Hermione’s story, and Harry realized with a jolt that he had not actually been paying attention to anything she was telling him._

_“Come on! Come on!” George Weasley was behind them, trying to usher them away from the front window. “Everyone this way! It’s going to be great.”_

_“I don’t know about that,” Hermione muttered under her breath to Harry, but they followed George anyway into the sitting room, which seemed to have been magically enhanced to fit everyone at the party in a giant circle. In the center, spinning slowly in the air, was a large bottle filled with a neon pink potion._

_“Okay,” George started when he had confirmed that everyone was seated — Harry somehow crammed between Percy Weasley and Daphne Greengrass. “So one by one, we’re going to spin the potion bottle.” He pointed to the spinning object in the air, in case anyone was confused. “Then you and the person it points to each take a drink and then kiss.” At the look of disgust on a couple people’s faces (mainly Pansy Parkinson’s, who Harry still wasn’t sure why she was there, and Padma Patil’s), George added. “A quick peck will do. You don’t have to snog for hours.”_

_“Okay, and then what?” Pansy asked. She still looked disgusted._

_“Then we see what happens,” George said, and Harry felt something twist in his gut. Seeing what happened was never good when it came from George Weasley._

_“You start, Perce,” George said to his brother, and Percy stood up, looking much too dignified to be about to play spin the potion bottle._

_Percy slowly made his way to the center of the circle, reached out and then tapped the bottle lightly with his wand. The potion bottle dissolved into a whirl of pink as it spun faster than anyone could make out. Finally, after a few moments, the potion bottle started to slow, its shape becoming visible once more as it kept turning in the air, slower and slower until finally it stopped, its mouth pointed directly at Pansy Parkinson._

_Pansy glared at the bottle, as if it was its fault she was in this position, then stood up and marched over to Percy, standing a foot away from him like she thought he might be contagious._

_Percy glanced at George, made a noise that might have been a sigh, then bent forward and pecked Pansy on the cheek._

_As soon as he did, a pink wisp of smoke appeared out of nowhere, wrapping around them both until they were no longer visible to anyone watching. Harry glanced over at George, who was watching this whole thing with the look of utmost excitement._

_Then the smoke was gone, and Pansy and Percy were staring at each other. Next thing everyone knew, Percy was holding out his hand, Pansy was taking it, and they walked out of the circle of people and disappeared off into the kitchen._

_Everyone watched them go. Harry glanced back at George, who was grinning ecstatically and fist pumping._

_“Who’s next?” he said, and Harry was not surprised that no one seemed to be volunteering._

_“Ron, you go,” George ordered._

_“Do I have to?”_

_“Ron!”_

_And with a look akin to how he looked the first time he had gone into the Forbidden Forest, Ron slowly stood up and walked to the center of the circle. He looked around nervously before tapping the bottle with his wand, and a blur of pink again attracted everyone’s attention._

_The bottle spun and spun, while Ron looked like he might puke, finally stopping on Luna Lovegood._

_Luna clapped her hands in delight as Ron struggled to look pleased. But then Luna jumped to her feet, hurried across the circle and snogged Ron hard, her arms around his neck._

_Once again, pink smoke billowed up around them, and when it died away, Ron was staring at Luna like a lovesick puppy. She led him away from the circle, laughing happily, and George clapped his hands in delight._

_“Who’s next?” he called._

_Lee Jordan was the next person up. He left with Seamus Finnigan. Katie Bell got matched with Alicia Spinnet, and Hannah Abbott ended up with Neville Longbottom. More people stood up after them, and more people left the circle. And then somehow it was Harry’s turn._

\--

Ron was the only one in the sitting room when Harry got downstairs, stretched across a couch with an arm over his head, one trainer on his left foot and the other foot clad in only a sock.

It looked a bit like a tornado had come through in the middle of the night. Cups lay upturned all over the carpet as well as the side tables and the other chairs in the room. Various articles of clothing were piled on the ground. Harry had to walk carefully to avoid stepping on chunks of sandwiches and pie and some other things that were closer to crumbs now than any recognizable food.

He cleared his throat when he got to the couch, standing by Ron’s feet, and his friend popped one eye open to take him in.

“What happened to you, mate?” Ron asked. “It looks like you were hit with a blast-ended skrewt or something.”

Harry’s hands instantly went to his face, his stomach knotting in fear. Were there marks on him he didn’t remember? He hadn’t wanted to look too closely at himself in the mirror. But Ron only frowned at him from his still inclined position on the couch.

“I mean you look miserable,” Ron said, and then frowned some more. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” Harry muttered, as an image of a naked Hermione popped into his mind, and he was sure his cheeks were coloring.

“Oh, Merlin!” Ron suddenly exclaimed, sitting upright. “Did you have sex?”

“What? No! Of course not. Why would you ….? No!”

Ron, though, was staring at him wide-eyed. “Tell me who!” he said.

“No. … I mean, it’s no one.”

“Is it embarrassing? Is that why you won’t tell me?”

“No. I didn’t …”

“Was it Millicent Bulstrode?”

“What? No!” Harry exclaimed.

“Daphne Greengrass?”

“No,” Harry said again, and this time Ron shrugged. 

“Too bad,” he said. “She’s a good one.”

“Okay,” Harry said, looking around for a way to avoid the conversation. He saw a bottle of water on the table and grabbed it, practically ripping off the lid and pounding it down.

“But, really.” Ron was still talking “There’s no one you should be embarrassed by. I mean, Percy is upstairs now with Pansy Parkinson.”

The water Harry just drank came flying out his mouth, and he spluttered, “WHAT?!?!”

Ron grinned. “They’ve been up there all night!” he chortled. “That love potion thing of George’s is grand.”

_A whirl of color. Pink lip sliding past his lips._

“Yeah,” Harry said, but his voice sounded too faint, too meek, even to his own ears. “Grand.”

Ron was back to eyeing him curiously. “Come on,” he said. “You can tell me. I won’t breathe a word to anyone. It will be our little secret.”

Harry hesitated, but by then, it was too late. That split moment of indecision had confirmed to Ron that he had indeed had sex with someone, and Ron was looking at him now like he was a huge parcel awaiting him on Christmas morning.

“You can’t say anything,” Harry said, and Ron shook his head in confirmation.

“That potion ... the love potion …,” Harry said. “It landed on … it landed on Hermione.”

Whatever Harry might have expected Ron’s reaction to be — horror, shock, laughter — it wasn’t it. Instead, Ron just looked at him nonplussed. 

“You’re not going to say anything?” Harry finally said.

“I mean.” Ron shrugged. “You’ve been pining for her since we were fifteen years old. It was bound to happen, wasn’t it?”

“It was?” Harry blinked at this friend, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening.

“Do you think I didn’t know?”

“Didn’t know what? I never … we didn’t … I don’t …” Harry didn’t even know what he was trying to say, but he felt his cheeks growing warm again. “You and her …”

Ron almost snorted. “We were two weeks together before that fell apart. We weren’t anything, mate. You’ve always been better for her than me. You want her, you go for it.”

“We’re just friends,” Harry said.

“Who had sex.”

“Because of a love potion. Nothing more.”

“Ohhhh.” Ron drew out the word, nodding. “I get it. You think she doesn’t want you.”

“Does she?”

“I don’t know.”

Harry glared at him, then rubbed his neck. His mind was spinning, and Ron wasn’t helping. But there was only one thing he knew; he couldn’t lose her, she was his best friend, and he was terrified that was about to end.

\--

_He climbed slowly to his feet, looking at the ever-dwindling supply of people left. Maybe five or six at most, and out of all of them, there was only one person he had ever even thought about snogging … but he couldn’t. She was off limits. What they had was too special for him to ruin it._

_He yanked his wand out of the pocket of his jeans when he got to the center of the circle and then carefully tapped it on the potion bottle._

_He felt a tug, like someone had pulled on a string attached to his belly button, and the bottle dissolved into the whirl of color. He kept his eyes focused on it as it spun, not trusting himself to meet the eyes of anyone watching, for fear they would be able to read his deepest desire in his expression._

_It seemed like forever that he stood there, watching the bottle spin and spin, the colors making him feel slightly dizzy and a bit lightheaded, but just as he was thinking he might need to sit down, the bottle slowed and stopped. Harry hardly dared to breathe as he looked up to see where it was pointed._

_Hermione._

_He muttered a curse under his breath, his heart leaping into his throat, half in terror and half in exhilaration. He had thought about this moment before, but he had always known he couldn’t, but this was just a game, right, it didn’t mean anything …_

_Harry forced himself to smile as Hermione stood up and walked over to him. If this bothered her at all, she didn’t show it. In fact, she looked almost pleased. Or maybe he was imagining that?_

_She smiled at him as she neared him. “It’s just a peck, right?” she whispered, so only he could hear. His eyes were focused on her lips, on the dark maroon lipstick that covered them. Had Hermione always worn lipstick? Had he never noticed?_

_But he couldn’t ask because she was learning forward, her hair swinging past her shoulders as she moved, and then her lips were on his. A warm heady feeling surged through his entire body, and the sensation of being pulled by a rope was back, but this time he felt like the invisible rope was tying him to Hermione and he couldn’t resist it even if he wanted. Which he didn’t want._

_He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her hard against him. She opened her mouth and his tongue slipped inside, and it was as sweet as he had always imagined. He ran his tongue around her mouth, his hands gripping her body, and he could feel her warm breath mixing with his, feel her arms gripping tightly to him in return, and he never wanted to let go._

_He didn’t know how long they stood there, locked together, until he opened his eyes to see pink specks fading in front of him. His whole body felt like it was on fire, and every thought in his mind was focused on one thing: Hermione._

_He wanted to be with her. Be inside her. Taste her. Touch her. Explore her. Make her come, over and over. He felt his cock spring to life beneath his jeans, and he wanted to undress right there._

_But something was tugging at his mind, telling him to go somewhere else. His hand grabbed hers and he pulled her with him, following the image in his mind._

\--

Four hours later, Harry found himself at Hermione’s door, in a flat in the center of London. His heart was practically pounding out of his chest, and he was sure he was sweating through his layers of clothes.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the night before, the details coming back stronger and clearer with each time he went over it. But as the memories grew, so did the dread. She had been one of his best friends since they were eleven years old. She had probably been his _best_ friend since they were seventeen. The nights spent together at the Leaky Cauldron as they bemoaned their starting jobs at the Ministry. The weekends running around London, pretending they were still kids. The days when one of them couldn’t get out of bed — the grief and the remorse and the guilt over everything that had happened during the war hitting way too hard — and the other lying by their side the whole time, just being there as tears fell and words spilled from lips.

Harry closed his eyes as he stood in the hall outside Hermione’s door. _You’ve been pining for her since we were fifteen years old. It was bound to happen, wasn’t it?_

No, screamed his brain, it wasn’t. Because she had never ever looked at him like she wanted more from him. She had slept beside him in bed countless nights, and she had never touched him the way a lover touches someone. She looked at him like the friend he was — someone who exasperated her sometimes, who made her laugh other times, who challenged her and was supportive of her. He had been the one she had confided in when she’d had a crush on Draco Malfoy of all people, and then had ended up sleeping with him the night they had been stuck together on an assignment. And then he had been the one she had gone to when Draco had unceremoniously ended things because he’d told her there was someone else.

She was his friend. His _best_ friend. But his friend nonetheless.

She had never hinted she wanted to kiss him, to sleep with him, to be with him. Nothing. Ever.

And now a love potion — a bloody _love_ potion, a George Weasley-made love potion that he should have suspected — might be the end of everything.

\--

_Harry didn’t see the people in the circle as he and Hermione exited it — he couldn’t even have said who was still there. He barely saw the kitchen of the Weasleys’ flat nor the stairs as they hurried up. But before him was suddenly a door, and this was it._

_He pulled Hermione through, his whole body ready to explode. The door clicked behind them, and Hermione uttered a soft_ Colloportus _followed by_ Muffliato _._

_A bed lay in the center of the room, and Harry could barely restrain himself. He yanked off his jeans and then reached for the buttons on his red button-down shirt. But a hand was in the way._

_He looked down into gorgeous brown eyes, and he needed them both to be naked now, but slim fingers were slowly making their way down his chest, buttons popping as they went._

_“You could just use your wand,” he groaned._

_She laughed, the most melodic laugh in the world. Like an angel on earth. “Or I could just use my fingers,” she said. “And my mouth.”_

_Harry groaned again, but this time not of impatience, as he felt those soft lips touch the flesh of his chest and his body grew even warmer with a surge of arousal._

_Hermione laughed against his skin as she continued down, tongue licking against his body as she flicked open the buttons on his shirt. When the last fastener had been released, she stood up, tugging his shirt down his arms, and then she wrapped her arms around him, kissing him hard, her teeth nipping as his lips as her fingers dug into his scalp._

_She was so warm against him, such a perfect fit, and he wrapped his arms around her, lost in the kiss, but it wasn’t enough._

_He dropped his hands, found the bottom of her black dress, and slid his arms up under it, wrapping them around her lower back. He pressed the palm of one hand against warm skin, and suddenly he needed so much more than to just feel it._

_He grabbed hold of the material of her dress and yanked, as hard as he could, and the sound of tearing filled the room, but Hermione didn’t stop kissing him as he pulled the pieces of her dress from her body, leaving her against him in matching black knickers and bra._

_He pressed his palm to her back again and the other dropped to her leg, running over and around her thigh, and then he moved his fingers upward until they were tracing over her center, over the material of her knickers, and he groaned into her mouth as he felt her shudder under his touch._

_He pushed her backward as they kissed, her hands now yanking on his hair as the fingers between her legs rubbed her more forcefully. He could feel the material growing damp as he rubbed, and the idea that he was making her wet seemed to make him more powerful and more lightheaded at the same time, and his cock grew harder and more painful, and he needed her now. He needed her so much._

_Her legs hit the back of the bed and he pulled back from her lips, pushing her slightly, and she fell backward on to the bed, a gasp of surprise leaving her throat, her eyes clouded over in desire as she looked at him._

_He stared down at her, her chest heaving, her legs slightly open, her hair almost like a halo around her head._

_He kneeled down before her at the foot of the bed, grabbing her legs and yanking her toward him, until her arse was balanced on the edge of the bed. His fingers slid up her inner thighs, stroking her gently before pushing her legs even further apart._

_He looked around, spotted his wand on the ground, and picked it up, pointing it between her legs. With a small wave, her knickers were gone, and she was before him, naked from the waist down, her pussy wet and glistening._

\--

But no. Harry shook his head, hard, to clear the memories from his mind. No, he refused. He refused to let one stupid night be the end of everything. They had been through too much together for their friendship to end like this, because of a night when neither of them had been in their right minds.

 _Except you had been in your right mind,_ a voice in his mind piped up. _You have always wanted her_.

Harry shook his head again, trying to shut up his brain and the images of Hermione — naked, body flushed, lips parted, eyes half closed, head arched back, knuckles white, toes curled, legs spread wide, nipples hard, pussy wet, hips rocking, moans of pleasure filling the air …. The most gorgeous sight he’d ever seen in his life …

But no. No, no, no. He could have these memories and that moment, or he could have his best friend.

_His best friend._

He cursed the voice inside him, lifted his hand and knocked on the door. Twice. Hard. Firm. Resolute.

And then his confidence faltered as he waited. Would she hate him, curse him, blame him? Would she be ashamed, upset? 

The door opened. Harry blinked. The light from the hall and the darkness of inside was too much of a contrast for a second, and it took him a moment to see her. And then his heart sank, landing in the pit of his stomach like a rock.

She was dressed unlike how he had ever seen her, in an oversized jumper and a pair of frayed black pajama pants. Her hair was pulled back in a bushy ponytail, and all traces of makeup were gone. She stared at him for a second like she had never seen him before, and she looked tired. Sad. Dejected.

“Hello,” Harry managed after a moment, the only word he could seem to get out.

Hermione just kept staring at him. Finally, she sighed. “What are you doing here?”

“You were gone …”

“Did you want me to stick around?” Her voice had a sharpness to it that made Harry cringe.

“I thought we should talk.”

Hermione was silent a beat, and then, “Yes, I suppose we should.” She stepped back, and let the door open wider. “Come in.”

Harry stepped inside the dark room. Hermione shut the door behind him, for a moment plunging them both into total blackness, but then lights started appearing and Harry realized she was using her wand to bring the candles to life.

When she was done, she gestured him over to the couch. “Do you want some tea?” she asked, as if he were an acquaintance who was coming over for the first time.

“No,” he said, barely able to talk as he headed to the couch and sat down. Part of him wanted to run, to jump to his feet, to tell her coming here had been a mistake and just leave, taking his shame and his memories with him.

\--

_Harry used his fingers first, spreading Hermione’s labia apart, rubbing gently over all her folds. Then he dipped his head, his tongue sliding over her from top to bottom, exploring all the places his fingers had just been._

_He went slowing, licking, touching, listening for her moans, taking note of how she twitched and bucked, and then when he knew she was ready, he began to go faster, licking at her over and over, his tongue moving as fast as it could, and she keened below him, her hips jerking as he ate her out, like she was the best meal he had ever had, and she was. Her taste was sweet on his tongue and on his lips, and all he wanted, all he desired, was to make her come, to make her scream, to make her explode into a wave of pleasure and know that he was the reason._

_Her hips were jerking now as he worked on her, and he reached up with one hand to press a palm to her pelvis, holding her down, letting his thumb hang over so it was touching her clit, just soft enough for her to feel it._

_She moaned at the touch, her body jerking harder beneath him. His other hand stroked her thigh, up and down and up and down, and he could feel her muscles tensing beneath his touch._

_But he needed more, wanted more. His eyes looked up, as though they already had a destination in mind, past her face, which was already a combination of lust and pleasure, her breath coming more shallowly now as she panted, her arms above her head, her hands in fists holding on to the sheets, her back starting to arch._

_Her wand. Lying beside her._

_He let go of her thigh and lifted his head, his tongue leaving her, and she groaned in frustration and tried to roll over._

_He shushed her gently, his hand pressing even more firmly down on her pelvis, and picked up the wand in his free hand. He studied the tip, then very carefully, he inserted it inside her, watching as it disappeared into her body._

_Hermione moaned, loud and long, as the wand entered her, her head falling back and her eyes closing._

_Harry let go of Hermione’s wand, leaving it peeking out of her body, before reaching for his own again. He pointed his wand at hers, muttered a spell the Weasley brothers had taught him, and then smiled in delight as her wand began to move inside her, filling her with magic and reaching deep inside her._

_Harry returned then to his own ministrations, his tongue going back to her labia, his thumb resuming its pressure on her clit, his other hand making circles on her thigh, and he had never felt this confident, this assured, during sex, but he had also never wanted anything as much as he wanted to see Hermione Granger come._

_And she was close. So very close._

_She was shifting and shuddering, her body rutting against the wand buried deep inside her cunt and against his tongue and his thumb. The pants were turning to soft cries, and her knuckles were white as she gripped the sheets._

_Harry’s tongue moved faster against her, hitting the place he had discovered she loved over and over again._

_“Come, Hermione, come for me,” he thought in his mind, and almost as if he had directed the thoughts directly into her head, he felt her whole body tense, all at once, every muscle tightening … and then she screamed, pleasure overtaking her as her muscles loosened, her thighs spasming and her cunt contracting, and Harry lifted his head to see her arousal leak out of her to drip on to the sheets beneath her pussy, and he thought he could watch this moment over and over for the rest of his life and never be bored._

_But he also couldn’t just watch. His cock was so hard now, so stiff, and he had to have her. He had to._

_He turned his head toward hers and met her gaze. She looked dazed, not all the way there, but then her eyes shifted to his, and she moaned, “Please. Harry. Inside me. Now.”_

_It was all he needed. He yanked her own wand out of her cunt, tossing it aside, and then he spread her legs as far as they would go, bending them at the knees to give him more access. He grasped hold of his own cock, already coated in pre-cum, but he picked his wand up again anyway, coating his cock and her entrance with lube, and then he was sliding inside her, inch by amazing inch, until he was fully seated in her, and he could feel her tight warmth around him and he thought he could die happy._

_But not yet. First he had something he needed to do, and that was to fuck her. Fuck her as hard as he could. All the way in and all the way out. Hard and fast and deep. Fuck her as best as he could. Make her feel it._

_And he did. He gritted his teeth and he fucked her for all he was worth, and she met every thrust with the movement of her own hips, and together they groaned and moaned, and it was everything Harry ever could have wanted._

_And then the world was spinning and his vision was tightening and his thumb was back on her clit and she was clenching around him and her scream was in his ears, and then his head was thrown back as he felt himself come inside her, sobs threatening to escape his body at the overwhelming feeling of pleasure._

_He had never felt like this before, would never feel like this again, and he let himself stay inside her as she spasmed again and again, lighter each time but still happening, until he finally pulled out and looked at her carefully._

_It was only then he realized her black bra was still on, and something new clicked in his brain and the string inside him was pulling his fingers to her chest. He reached behind her, finding the clasp, and then sliding her bra down her arms and tossing it away somewhere._

_She whimpered as his mouth found her nipple, and he felt her arms wrap around him._

_“Oh, Harry,” she murmured, and his name had never sounded so beautiful, as he licked and nipped and teased her until he was dropping back down between her legs and slipping his fingers deep inside her, and he was watching her nipples, hard and pointed as her own fingers brushed over them, and he could see her clit swollen in arousal and he could feel the wetness that was covering his mouth and his fingers and her legs, and he loved her._

_He loved her and this party and this moment, and it was everything, and he just wanted to take her again and again and again._

_And she wanted the same thing, because they kept at it, long into the night — making each other come, by fingers and mouths, by his cock buried deep inside her, by her wand in her cunt as she floated in midair — until at some point their eyes were too heavy to keep open and they curled up together, her head on his chest and her arms around him just as his arms were around her, and the last thought he had before he succumbed to sleep was how he wanted to do this for the rest of his life, if only she would let him._

\--

He forced himself to sit down on the couch, to look like this was just a normal day. Hermione sat down at the other end, as far away from him as she could manage while still being on the same piece of furniture, her hands folded in her lap as though she were facing a job interview and not her friend.

Again, Harry’s heart dropped — although by now it must surely be at his toes — and his mouth felt dry. He should have said yes to that tea.

But he couldn’t just keep sitting here, staring at her, his body on edge, his nerves ready to leap out of their coat of flesh.

“About last night,” he started, and he saw Hermione’s expression darken just a bit, and he felt bile rise in his throat as she opened her mouth to speak, to tell him how horrible it had been, how much she regretted it, how she wished she could take it back. 

“We should just pretend it never happened!” he blurted out, before she could. Hermione’s lips snapped back together, and something unreadable crossed her face before she nodded.

“Yes,” she said, and her voice sounded tight, the way it always used to when she had found out he and Ron had once again failed to do the required reading. “I think that is best.”

“You do?” For a second, Harry had a vision of her telling him he was wrong, that she didn’t want to forget, that she wanted to leap across this couch right now and peel his clothes off and get down on her knees and put that soft, wet mouth on his cock ….

Harry leapt to his feet, shame turning his whole body red.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, her face suddenly full of concern.

“I don’t want to lose you!” The words tumbled from his mouth. “You’re my best mate, Hermione. You’re the one person who just understands me, and I can’t … I don’t want … ” He was panicking now, a vision of a future without her suddenly replacing all the memories of the night before, and he had to explain, had to make her see. “I didn’t know it was a love potion or what it would do. If I had known, I would have refused. I promise, I would have!”

But Hermione was staring at him again, this time her expression one of shock. “It was a love potion?”

“George made it,” Harry said. “Something he’s working on for the joke shop. He thought it’d be funny to test it out on everyone. Ron told me. This morning. I didn’t know.”

“It was a love potion,” Hermione repeated.

“Errr, yeah,” Harry said. “That’s why everyone … that’s why we …”

“Yes, that makes sense,” Hermione said.

“If I had known,” Harry said again. “I’m really sorry. I never would have … I just want us to be friends. If you want to scrub my memories or something … ?”

Hermione managed a smile at that, or he thought it was supposed to be a smile. The corner of her lip turned up somewhat, but the rest of her just looked sad. Too sad. The expression wrapped itself around Harry and squeezed, and he just wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to take away the pain.

He took a step backward, almost tripping over something lying on the floor. He looked behind him and saw it was an ornament. 

A tent. Two little figures inside.

The present he had given to her the year after the war, as a reminder of what they had gone through and an acknowledgement of what they had survived.

He turned back to the tree in the corner of her sitting room, the rest of the ornaments perfectly in place. Then he looked at her, still sitting on the couch, her body and her face frozen as she realized what had just happened.

Oh.

He took another step back, toward the door. He didn’t need her to explain why the present he’d given her wasn’t with the others.

“Harry …” Hermione started, her body lifting from the couch, her hand reaching toward him, but he shook his head.

“Please just keep being my friend,” he said, and this time he didn’t let her answer. He couldn’t bear the truth if she decided to tell him — that maybe she wanted nothing to do with him, that maybe he should have resisted the love potion, that maybe last night was the worst mistake of her life. 

Instead, he turned around and raced for the front door.

“See you Monday at the Ministry!” he called, and then he was out the door and Apparating back home and locking himself in his room before crawling into bed, hoping desperately that he could just wake up Monday morning and realize all of this had been just a bad (but also insanely good) dream.

•••

If Harry’d had any hope that when he arrived at work Monday morning that everything would have gone back to normal, it was tragically extinguished within the first ten minutes. It seemed like all anyone could talk about was the Weasley party and who had taken up with whom.

Lavender Brown gleefully told him that Percy Weasley and Pansy Parkinson had walked in hand in hand this morning, and that Luna Lovegood was spotted leaving Draco Malfoy’s house this morning by a very good source (which Harry was sure was Parvati Patil, being that she was always Lavender’s main source and also that she lived just down from Draco).

“I thought Ron was snogging Luna,” Harry said, another memory from that forsaken night popping into his mind.

Lavender laughed like that was the funniest thing he could have said. “No, silly,” she said. “Luna snogged Ron for maybe one second, and then she and Draco went into the closet together and didn’t come out until the next day. Did Ron not tell you?”

Harry shrugged, not wanting to admit he hadn’t asked, but also realizing how that explained Ron being alone on the couch in the morning and looking none too thrilled until he had pried Harry’s escapades from him.

“Well,” Lavender continued, “I also heard …” She continued on, tale after tale from the night coming out of her mouth and echoing around the office as Harry pretended to listen, nodding along and muttering exclamations at all the right parts, the only fortunate — miraculous, more like — aspect of Lavender’s gossip being that no one seemed to know he and Hermione had been together.

“I heard you and Daphne Greengrass were doing it upstairs,” Lavender even said at one point, staring at him eagerly and waiting confirmation. Part of Harry wanted to lie and tell her yes, but that was too easily disproved by Daphne, so instead he just smiled slyly and said, “You tell me,” and Lavender laughed in delight and clapped her hands together, then excused herself a few moments later, probably to go confirm her suspicions to Parvati, until later that day when Daphne disproved them. 

The rest of the morning was therefore spent in fear, listening to people gossiping and passing stories like they were Ministry memos, but by lunch time the Harry and Daphne story had spread and people were grinning at him and gesturing with their heads over to where Daphne sat with her sister. 

At one point, Harry looked up and caught Daphne’s eye. To his amazement, she smirked at him and blew him a kiss, while the others in her vicinity cheered, and Harry’s heart finally seemed to find a steady beat for the first time since Saturday morning. For some reason, Daphne was keeping his secret, and he wasn’t going to question it. (A part of his mind told him that maybe Daphne’s actual night had been spent with someone who she wanted to keep secret, much like he and Hermione, but he knew he would never ask her.)

He didn’t see Hermione at all that day, and when he returned home that night, he didn’t know how to feel about it. On one hand, it was normal — he rarely saw her on days when they were both busy — and probably for the best; with the gossip so strong, he didn’t want to risk accidentally letting an expression or hint of what really happened slip out. But on the other hand, it made his heart clench in disappointment and fear. He had left her on such a bad note on Saturday afternoon, and there was no telling what she was thinking now. Maybe she had decided they couldn’t be friends after all. Maybe she had decided he had crossed a line that there was no coming back from. Maybe she blamed him for ruining a decade of friendship because he’d wanted to get laid and couldn’t control himself.

The fears didn’t quell the next day, nor the day after, nor the day after that. Hermione almost seemed nowhere to be found in the Ministry, not even when Harry claimed he was going for a “walk” and ended up on her floor. He wondered, with an ache that almost caused him to vomit, if she was avoiding him on purpose. He kept waiting for her to send him a memo or an Owl Post or to show up at his door when he was home, a bottle of butterbeer in her hands like old times, so they could sit on his couch and moan about their days and maybe laugh at the still-going-strong story of him and Daphne. (By Thursday night, Harry had heard that he and Daphne had actually done it on the Weasleys’ kitchen table, they were so intoxicated by each other, and had spent the whole rest of the weekend together in Harry’s giant bed.)

But Hermione didn’t come over nor did she write nor was there any sign of her anywhere, and Harry was too fearful to contact her, so instead he just sat at home and tried to rack his brains about how to fix this, but there didn’t seem to be a way, unless he could successfully alter her memories and make her forget but that was unacceptable and he would never do that.

He had hoped that maybe by the weekend she would come around, and she was just avoiding him for good reason at the Ministry, but he spent the days with Ron, who finally admitted that Luna did leave him for Draco, with no sign of Hermione.

“Have you talked to her?” Harry asked Ron as they played their tenth game of Wizarding chess, but Ron shook his head.

“I think she knows I know,” Ron said. “I saw her … Tuesday, maybe? … and waved. She waved back, but that was it.”

Harry sighed. “She hates me.”

“She should hate George,” Ron said reasonably. “It was his love potion.”

“George didn’t have sex with her.”

“But George knew it was a love potion and didn’t tell anyone.”

“I should have resisted,” Harry said miserably. “All the other spells and curses I’ve been able to resist in my life …” It had been bothering him all week, that knowledge, that he had overcome so many effects of spells before but this love potion — a love potion about to be sold in a joke shop, no less — had somehow consumed his whole being and led him to having sex with his best friend and possibly ruining their friendship forever. 

But that wasn’t fair, he knew, because in the deepest part of his gut, he knew he hadn’t wanted to resist. He had wanted to have sex with her. He had wanted to see her naked. He had wanted to touch her and taste her and make her come.

And in an even deeper part of his gut, that he hated with a passion, he knew he didn’t regret anything that happened. Seeing her lying before him, naked and yearning, moaning his name, reaching for him and _needing_ him like she had never needed anyone, was the best moment of his life, and the memories were what was keeping him sustained through the week, especially as he lay in his bed at night and stroked himself to orgasm at the images.

But in the broad daylight, sitting beside Ron, shame colored his neck and his cheeks as he thought of his dirty secret, and regret again filled him as he knew he had probably traded his best friend for a night of sex he had wanted to mistake for love.

“’Tis not your fault,” Ron said again, and Harry only nodded, because there was no use arguing when he knew the real truth all too well.

•••

Harry finally saw Hermione at the Ministry the following Tuesday, ten days after he had last seen her. She nodded her head at him as she passed. “Harry,” she said, like he was a stranger, and he nodded in kind. “Hermione.”

The next day at lunch she plopped down in the chair opposite him. He stared at her in surprise.

“People are going to talk if we aren’t seen being friends,” she said, as if it were that simple.

“Okay,” he said.

“Besides, I want to hear about you and Daphne.”

Harry blinked at her in horror, and then her lip quirked, and he couldn’t help it. A laugh barked out of him, like it couldn’t help but to escape, and then Hermione was laughing too, and they were grinning at each other just like old times.

But it wasn’t exactly old times, although it was better. They went back to having lunches together, went back to sharing stories about their days, went back to spending time together and with Ron after work, but in every moment they spent together, Harry still felt it — the memories of what they had been for one night underlying everything.

So many times he would watch her talk and remember pressing his lips to hers, would watch her move and remember her body lying beneath his, would watch her laugh and remember her head thrown back as she shuddered around him, and every single night he went home and re-imagined all the events of the party in detail, spilling himself on his sheets and wishing she could be beside him and aching for her in a way he had never let himself ache before. And he knew, without doubt, that he was falling deeper and deeper in love with her as the days passed, and he began to fear there was no way out without severing their friendship forever.

•••

The Ministry’s Annual Christmas Eve Gala always took place in a castle in the countryside of London, and this year was no exception. The invitation said to meet at the visitor entrance to the Ministry at nine o’clock sharp, and special portkeys would be set up to transfer all the guests to the ball.

Harry and Ron, also per usual, got dressed for the gala at the Weasleys’ place, fixing each other’s ties with waves of their wands. George sat on the couch, tinkering with something, and laughing at their attempts to look good, Harry biting his tongue the whole time to keep himself from exploding at George and asking why he had thought using a love potion on all the guests at the party would be remotely funny.

At ten to nine, the doorbell to the Weasleys’ chimed, and Ron shook his head. 

“She could just come in,” he muttered, waving his wand to open the door. Harry glanced up to look — and every drop of air left his lungs while his heart came to a complete stop.

Hermione stood on the other side of the door, as he knew she would, dressed in a deep red spaghetti strap dress that looked like it was made just for her. Her hair was piled on her head, soft brown curls hanging down around her face. Her lipstick was the same dark maroon she had worn for the Weasley party, and she almost looked like she was glowing as she smiled at them.

“Ready?” she asked, as she stepped through the door, glaring at George but keeping her mouth closed. George didn’t seem to notice. 

“Yup,” Ron said. They both turned to look at Harry, who felt like he was frozen solid, stuck to the floor forevermore, still gaping at Hermione.

“You, errr … you look beautiful.”

He shouldn’t have said it. He knew as soon as the words hit the air. Hermione reddened, and she seemed to pull back just a little. Even Ron frowned.

“Okay,” Ron said. “Let’s go. Bye George!”

He and Hermione headed back out the door to the front stoop, but George caught Harry before he could make a move to go after them. In his hand was a small silver ball. He reached for Harry’s hand and placed it in his palm.

Harry looked down at the ball in confusion and then back up at George, who winked at him. “In case you engage in any extracurricular gala activities,” he said, and Harry had to close his mouth before he could retort that he wouldn’t unless the Ministry punch was spiked too.

Instead, he slipped the silver ball — whatever it was — into his pocket and hurried off after Ron and Hermione.

George followed him to the door. “Have a good time, you crazy kids!” he called, and then the three of them turned on the spot and Apparated, appearing above ground, down the street from the Ministry visitor entrance, just as they had been instructed.

•••

The castle where the gala was being held seemed even more magical this year, Harry thought, as he and Hermione and Ron followed the crowd of guests inside. Mistletoe floated through the air, interspersed with candles hung with silver and gold ribbons. The ceilings had all been transformed to glow like a dark night, full of twinkling stars. Trees filled with silver and gold ornaments adorned every room, and house elves carrying trays of drinks and food seemed to be everywhere. 

In the main ball room, a Wizarding orchestra had set up, and the cheerful music spread throughout the castle as people laughed and talked and began to dance. He, Ron and Hermione grabbed drinks from a passing house elf, Hermione’s eyes narrowing as the little elf waltzed away, but instead of launching into a familiar tirade, she just turned to Ron.

“Dance with me?” she asked.

Ron looked at her, startled, then caught Harry’s eye. “Erm,” Ron said, clearly uncomfortable. “You don’t want to dance with Harry?”

Hermione frowned, and in the dim lighted room, her eyes met Harry’s, and he knew they were both seeing it — Harry thrusting into her in a dark room, her body clenching around him, begging him to make her come.

“No,” she said to Ron now, rather too quickly, and the image in front of Harry’s eyes faded away, immediately replaced by a pain akin to being stabbed in the heart by a dagger.

He watched as his two friends left him behind, to escape to the dance floor, Ron placing his hands on Hermione’s waist and Hermione throwing her arms around his neck, pulling herself to him, each motion digging the dagger deeper in to Harry, killing him slowly on the spot.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, watching Ron and Hermione pressed together, wishing it was him instead. The music played and the candles passed by overhead and the two of them twirled and twirled, and suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore. 

He found himself on the dance floor before he knew what he was doing, his hand gripped tightly on Ron’s shoulder. 

“Harry!” Hermione’s voice snapped in the dark, anger apparent.

“I need to talk to you,” Harry said to her.

“It can wait.”

“No, it can’t,” Ron said. He pulled out of Hermione’s grip. She placed her hands on her hips and glared at Harry. “You two are being such prats,” Ron continued. “Figure it out already. I’m not supposed to be the mediator between you two.” He turned around and walked away, leaving Harry and Hermione awkwardly looking at each other.

“Can we …?” Harry lifted his arms to indicate a slower moving dance, but Hermione just tightened her arms across her chest.

“You should have waited,” she said stiffly. “I was dancing with Ron, and actually having a good time.”

“It couldn’t wait.”

“What could possibly be so important that it can’t wait, Harry Potter?” Hermione said, and Harry jerked backward involuntarily as his name was practically spit from her mouth. “Are you going to tell me the rumors are true about you and Daphne Greengrass?”

Harry stared at her in shock. “You know they’re not!”

“Do I?”

And Harry exploded. All the emotions and all the fears and all the doubts of the past couple weeks pouring from his body and out into the world.

“Of course you do!” he hissed. “Unless you’re blind! Because I don’t know how you can’t see that I want you, that I’ve always wanted you, that there’s never been anyone else! I spent that night with you — with only you — and the only thing I regret is that I don’t think I can be your friend anymore!”

Harry paused, panting. He seemed to have shocked the words, and the anger, out of Hermione because she was just staring at him, her mouth open, her eyes wide.

“You don’t want …?” she finally echoed, and Harry felt his whole body deflate. Of course that’s what she heard. What did he expect? That she would jump into his arms once he had professed his feelings?

But it was too late to take back what he had said. His shoulders stooped. “I’m sorry,” he said to her shoes. “I can’t do this. I can’t be your friend. I want to be, but I can’t. I can’t look at you and not remember what happened. I can’t talk to you and not want more. So I think it’s just better …” He trailed off, the words stuck in his throat. 

Fingers clasped his upper arms. He lifted his head from the red shoes and raised his eyes to meet Hermione’s. Lips crashed into his and almost knocked him off balance.

She pulled away a few seconds later, breathing heavy. He stared at her, his brain not completely caught up to what was happening.

“I don’t want to be your friend either, Harry,” she said quietly. “I haven’t for a really long time.”

“But …” It didn’t make sense. He had to be dreaming. Or under another spell. Maybe there was something in the drinks. 

But Hermione was looking at him, and there was something in her eyes that was so pure, so magical, and then she was back in his arms, her lips against his, and his hands were sliding up her arms, touching the sides of her face, confirming for himself she was real.

She was real. This was real.

_This was real._

He pulled away from her. She whinnied softly.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he told her.

“You tell me that back,” she said.

“You’re not dreaming,” Harry said. “All I want to do is take you right now, show you how much I want you, how much I’ve always wanted you.”

“Then do it.” Hermione raised her brows as she looked at him, and there was something on her face he had never seen before. A challenge maybe, and the look seemed to sear right through him, and he felt his penis throb in anticipation. “Take me right now. Right here. Show me how much you want me.”

“Right now,” he repeated. And then he looked around. It was dark, people dancing and laughing, music playing. No one was paying attention to them. And he didn’t want to wait, he realized. Because if he waited, maybe he would wake up, or she would realize what she was saying, and if this was only going to last a moment …

He slid his fingers to her upper arms and pulled her back to him, once more closing the gap between them, and she sighed, her hands slipping up his back to lock around him. He stood there with her, just like that, for a moment, just kissing her and tasting her and enjoying her, but he needed more.

His hands dropped from her arms and found the bottom of her dress, sliding beneath it to trail up the back of her legs until they were cupping her arse.

Hermione’s lips left his, and he heard a gasp of surprise leave her throat.

He bent his head. “Right now,” he whispered into her ear, before kissing her again, and she shivered in his arms, but she didn’t protest.

He slid one hand around her arse to stroke between her legs, two fingers rubbing hard against her knickers, letting the fabric create friction against her flesh. And then he remembered. He removed his hand from Hermione, never taking his lips off her, and slid it into the pocket.

Something cool met his touch and he gripped it lightly, pulling the silver ball out of his pocket. Suddenly, he knew exactly what it was.

He returned his hand to under her dress and pushed his fingers, and the ball, between her knickers and her skin.

She jerked at the feeling of the cool metal against her flesh as he rolled the ball over her, and then the ball left his fingers, flying up inside her before he could even direct it.

The effect was immediate. 

Hermione began moaning, one sound leading into the next, her hands fisting into the back of his suit jacket, and he felt her hips begin to thrust against him. He kept one hand between her legs, feeling the wetness growing beneath his touch, rubbing her gently the whole time, his other hand still closed around her arm.

Hermione had to turn her head, burying her face in the side of his neck so other people wouldn’t hear her. “Harry,” she moaned against him. “Oh, Merlin ….”

He pulled his hand out of her knickers, bringing it up to where her face was tucked. Slowly, he trailed his fingers over her lips, letting her taste himself on him, and she moaned even louder, even more exquisitely than before, and he had to pull his hand away before he came just from the sound alone.

He wrapped his arms back around her waist and pulled her tighter against him. His knee had somehow found its way between her thighs, and he felt her press down on it, rutting against him as hard as she could as the silver toy inside her did its thing.

“Talk to me,” he whispered into her ear. “Tell me how it feels inside you.”

Hermione moaned in ecstasy.

“Talk to me,” he said again, more firmly this time, and she lifted her head. She was breathing hard, and he could see beads of sweat glistening across her forehead.

“It … feels …. “ She stopped speaking to moan again, the sound doing things to Harry he never could have imagined. Her nails dug into his jacket, so deep he could feel the scratching on his skin. “Full,” she finally continued. “So full. And deep. And fast. And …” She stopped again, her eyes starting to roll backward, but she didn’t come. Instead she ground herself harder against Harry and began to whimper, the movement of her hips growing desperate.

He could feel her muscles becoming taut beneath his touch, could feel her need to reach her climax as fast as possible — and suddenly, he didn’t want to be here anymore. He didn’t want to share her first orgasm with them finally together with the world. He didn’t want to risk people knowing and talking about this Monday morning at the office.

He moved his knee away from her legs, pulled back completely from her. She swayed, her knees almost buckling, and she looked at him helplessly for a second, almost looking like she might cry.

“Let’s get out of here,” he told her, jerking his head toward the exit and reaching out for her. He started to put his hand back under her dress, but she shook her head, firmly, the desperation clouding her features vanishing for just a moment as she made her decision.

“Leave it,” she panted. “I can make it.”

Harry’s heart, and his arousal, swelled. The idea of the woman he loved leaving the Ministry party with him, a tiny vibrator tucked inside her, keeping her balanced on the edge, ready to come at any moment, as soon as he could get her home and could lay her down or brace her against the wall …

But Hermione was gripping his hand hard and he could worry about the details shortly. He turned and led her from the dance floor, toward the light at the other end of the room. They’d go down the hall, out the front door and then they could Apparate …

Lavender Brown stepped out in front of them. She was wearing a dress to match her name, her hair long and curled around her face. She beamed first at Harry, then Hermione, and then she caught sight of their hands clasped together.

She let out a squeal that Harry thought probably sent dogs running.

“I knew it!” she shrieked, and Harry was surprised the music didn’t stop and everyone in attendance turn around. “I knew you had been with Hermione that night!”

For a moment, Harry forgot what he was on his way to do. He stared at her, the words entering his brain but not making sense. “What?”

“The Weasley party,” Lavender said, looking at him like he was the weird one. “You were with her, right?” She gestured toward Hermione.

Harry’s brain still refused to comprehend. “But … Daphne …”

Lavender snorted. “Please,” she laughed. “Daphne started that rumor. She didn’t want anyone knowing she snogged Goyle. And we knew you were never going to admit the truth.” Her eyes flickered to their hands again. “Until now!” Her voice went back up another octave. “This is so great! I have to tell Parvati!”

It was a good thing she shouted the last words, because Hermione groaned, and swayed, and Harry suddenly remembered what they were doing.

“See ya, Lavender,” he said, hoping to get away, but it didn’t matter. Lavender was already hurrying away from them, presumably to spread the gossip to everyone she knew.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered to Hermione, and he slid an arm around her to keep her standing, ushering her into the hall and toward the door.

“Harry,” Hermione panted into his ear as they moved. “I’m not going to make it.”

Harry stopped immediately and looked around. A huge Christmas tree sat tucked away in the corner. He yanked Hermione behind it, pushing her into the corner where hopefully no one would see.

Sweat was now dripping down her whole face, her skin flushed a dark red. She was panting uncontrollably, and as soon as he let go of her hand, she clasped it over her mouth. 

Harry rucked up her dress, shoving it up to her waist, then grabbed the waistband of her knickers and pulled them down. His hand moved quickly between her legs, sliding though the wetness to find her clit. He rubbed once, twice, and then Hermione was crying out into her hand, pressing herself into the wall as her entire body quaked uncontrollably, before collapsing forward over him.

He kept his hand between her legs, rubbing her gently as her body shuddered around him, the spasms growing softer and lighter as they went on, until he felt her take a deep breath and then lift her head. He looked up to meet her eyes. She still look glazed but she was smiling.

“That was …. spectacular,” she finally said, and he couldn’t help smirking at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.”

“That was only the foreplay,” Harry told her, and he moved his fingers to her entrance, pushing one in to find the silver ball. It fell out of her and into his hand, and he deposited it back into his pocket, not even bothering to clean it up. 

He straightened up and she did too, but something caught his eye.

He bent down, picking her knickers up off the ground and tucking them in his pocket with the silver ball. Then he held out his hand and let her take it. They crept out from behind the Christmas tree, trying to pretend nothing happened, avoiding the few people who were staring at them, and made their way out the front door to the landing.

“My place?” Harry asked her, and Hermine nodded.

They turned together on the spot, hands still clasped, and disappeared into the darkness.

•••

It was odd, Harry would think later, how rushed and intent he had been at the ball, how he had wanted to touch her so desperately, how he had needed to see her orgasm, to feel her in his arms, but now that they were in his bedroom, all he wanted was to take his time, to worship every bit of her, to commit every second of their first real time together to his memory.

Luckily, it seemed Hermione had the same idea.

He peeled her dress off of her slowly, undoing the zipper as carefully as he could, as she stood with her back to him, then pushing the thin straps carefully off her shoulders before letting them slip completely off her arms and watching the red fabric pool around her feet.

His fingertips stroked her neck and her shoulders, giving her light squeezes and gentle strokes, and then his lips followed, kissing the nape of her neck and around her shoulder blades. 

His fingers moved down more and found the clasp to her bra, unlatching it and pushing that too down her arms so it fell to the ground and lay at her feet, leaving her completely bare to him.

He stared at her body — her smooth skin, the curve of her arse — and then he returned to stroking her back, to gliding his fingers over her, to rubbing his thumbs into her pressure points, and she moaned softly as he kneaded her body, until he dropped to his knees and ran his hands over her arse, touching his lips to the dip in her lower back, stroking his fingers over the place where her hip bones jutted out and she shuddered and keened, deep in her throat.

He stood up then and helped her turn around so she was facing him. Her face was a combination of pleasure and desire, her cheeks flushed a soft pink. 

He took her face in his hands, his thumbs running over her cheekbones, and then he dipped his head, taking a long taste of her. She moaned into his mouth and ran her tongue across his lips before he pulled away, making her moan again, but only so he could dip his head to her shoulder, could kiss her below her jaw and behind her ear. She tilted her head back and he ran kisses up and down her neck before moving south, sucking on the skin over her clavicle, before he dropped even further and took one nipple into his mouth.

She arched against him and groaned, her hands going to his head, her fingers digging in, holding him in place, and he sucked on her nipple, alternating it with licking his tongue across the tip. His right hand came up to stroke the breast that his mouth was not paying attention to, his thumb running over her nipple, before tugging it gently between his thumb and forefinger, and she let out a soft cry and dug her nails even deeper into his head. He might have scars in the morning, but it would be worth it.

He sank down even farther, leaving behind her breasts. A whimper escaped her and he reached up, clasping his hands around her wrists that were still above his head, and tugged gently until she let go of him. Then he placed her hands over her own breasts, and immediately she began to play with herself.

He placed his palm against her belly, flat and warm, and he kissed below her breasts and above her belly button and down to the patch of slightly unkempt brown hair just above her legs, which he also kissed. 

His hands began running up and down her legs, stroking her calves and behind her knee and the inside of her thighs. And then finally, after what seemed both an eternity but also no more than a second, he stood back up, lifted her into his arms and placed her carefully down on his bed.

He returned to her legs, spreading them apart, and then made himself comfortable.

It was even better this time, without the help of the love potion. He could go slow, spreading her labia apart with his fingers and then rubbing her gently but rhythmically, building her up bit by bit, until she was wriggling on the bed sheets. He took a new tactic then, dipping his head forward to place his tongue over her entrance, but then moving it upward, licking and lapping and tasting her as his hands found her hips and held her in place.

She smelled nicer than anything he could ever remember smelling before, a heady, musty scent that wasn’t comparable to anything else. And she tasted even better.

He spread her legs apart even more, and she arched her back, giving him more room, and his tongue slid inside her, starting to speed up as he thrust it into her.

He let go of her leg with one hand and instead placed his thumb lightly over her clit, rubbing just hard enough to make her feel it.

Something yanked at his hair, and her hips rutted themselves against his face, and then thighs that he hadn’t known were so powerful were squeezing his head, cutting off all sight and sound, but he couldn’t remember wanting anything more as he kept his tongue moving inside her, kept his thumb stroking against her, and then she was clenching around him, her legs squeezing him even tighter as she shuddered, and he thought he heard a cry from somewhere above him.

And then it was over. Legs fell away from his head, splayed to the sides. He lifted his head, his face coated in her wetness. She was panting, one hand still clutched over a breast, and he thought he could just lie here forever if it was possible, watching her come down from her orgasm.

She lifted her head and saw him, and a lazy smile spread across her face.

“My turn,” she whispered. “I can’t be the only one who’s naked.”

She had him stand, his back to her, much like he had done to her, and she stroked over the muscles in his back before tugging off his jacket. She repeated the process, but this time wrapping her arms around him to unbutton his shirt, then tugging that off as well.

She ran her fingertips over his bare skin once his clothes were out of the way, pressing her lips to various spots on his back, and Harry closed his eyes to enjoy the feel of her pressed up against him.

He was lost in space and time, just caught up in her touch, before a wave of emptiness struck him, her fingers vanishing from his skin.

And then he realized she was undoing the button on his pants and sliding them down his legs, and then she was tugging off his underpants so he, too, was naked.

She turned him around and dropped to her knees before him. She tilted her head to look up at him, and his heart clenched with the love he felt coursing through him. He leaned down to capture her lips, and her hands came up to slide through his hair as they snogged.

She broke away, breathless, and then dropped her hands, taking hold of his balls in her hands, and he groaned, having to place a hand lightly on her head to keep himself upright.

She teased and massaged and rubbed at him, and he felt himself leaking before she finally grasped his penis in one hand, rubbing a fist firmly up and down his shaft, and oh, Merlin.

Harry fingers curled tighter into her hair and his eyes closed and Hermione’s hand didn’t still. He was getting hard, so hard, and ohhhhh … Hermione had moved her hand and now something hot and wet was around him, and he opened his eyes to see the woman he loved, on her knees, his cock buried deep in her mouth, and he almost came right there.

But no, not like this … 

Harry tugged on Hermione’s hair and then took a step back. She came off of him with a pop, eyes wide.

“Inside you,” he managed to get out, panting through the words. “Please.”

Hermione clambered to her feet, and a moment later, she was sprawled back out on his bed, her legs spread wide just for him. He climbed on to the bed as well, positioning himself between her legs.

He looked around, but Hermione handed him a wand — hers — and he smiled gratefully at her, before casting the spell to lube his cock and then to give them both protection.

He tossed the wand aside when he was done, and then gripped his cock, so painfully hard, and placed the tip against her center, moving it up and down between her folds. She wriggled, her hips jerking, and he knew they were both ready.

He brought his tip down to her entrance and then pushed inside. They both groaned, Harry waiting a moment to let her adjust. And then he pushed in more, and then more, keeping up the same routine until he was buried to the hilt inside her.

He slid his arms beneath her knees and lifted both of her legs up, holding her wide, and then he began to move and she began to move with him.

She lifted herself up, so she could grasp his shoulders, and the only sound in the room was their bodies slapping together and the shallow breaths they were taking.

He studied her as they moved, her head back, eyes closed, mouth partially open, her nipples firm, the muscles in her stomach dancing, her hips jerking as she met him thrust for thrust.

“Hermione,” he found himself saying. “Open your eyes.”

She did.

He let go of her legs and she wound them around his back, crossing them at the ankles. He pushed her back until she was lying against the pillows, and then he took both her hands in his and moved them so they were each beside her head, wrapping his fingers through hers. He leaned forward and found her lips, and they kissed, sloppily, messily, as their bodies moved together in an ever increasing rhythm, hurting toward the edge of the cliff that would send them into ecstasy.

It was perfect. It was all so perfect.

And then Harry let go of her with his right hand and pushed his fingers between them, finding her clit, rubbing her firmly, and then she was clenching around him, her whole body — her whole being — seeming to consume him, and he felt so warm and happy and full of love, and he waited until she grew limp before he plunged into her a couple more times and then he, too, was lost, as pleasure exploded behind his eyes and he knew nothing more than him and her and this moment together.

•••

Ron was staring at them in disbelief. “So you didn’t tell him you liked him,” Ron was saying to Hermione.

“Well, he told me he just wanted to be my friend!” Hermione said defensively.

Ron turned to Harry. “And you told her you just wanted to be her friend ...?”

“She gave no indication otherwise,” Harry insisted, as Ron rolled his eyes.

“You both are prats,” he told them, as the front door opened behind him, and the three of them looked over to see George Weasley enter.

George grinned when he saw them, his eyes going to Harry and Hermione, Hermione sitting almost in Harry’s lap on the couch. “Why if it’s not my best matchmaking success!” he crowed.

Hermione was out of Harry’s arms before Harry could even decide if he wanted to formulate a response.

“Success?” Hermione almost spit. She was shooting daggers at George. “You drugged people at a party so they would have sex! You’re lucky you’re not being hauled into the Ministry right now!”

“What?” George looked stunned. His mouth had dropped open. “What are you on? I didn’t drug anyone!”

“What do you mean you didn’t drug anyone?” Hermione snarled. “We played a game with a love potion that encouraged sex!”

“Are you mental?” Ron was now staring at her in disbelief too. “That’s not how it works.”

“What?” Hermione said, the next rant she had planned dying out immediately.

“What?” Harry echoed.

George looked from Hermione to Harry and back to Hermione again. “Blimey,” he said. “How could you think I’d do that? It wasn’t that kind of love potion. It’s an attraction enhancer. It only works on two people who already have feelings for each other. It just makes them strong enough for the people to act on them if they want.”

“But,” Hermione started. George continued over her.

“If one of the two people, or both of them, don’t have feelings for the other person, then nothing will happen. _Nothing._ ” He gestured to Ron. “Like this guy here who spent the night alone.”

“Hey!” Ron said. “You told me my soulmate just wasn’t at the party.”

“Did I?” George said.

“What if two people hate each other?” Harry asked.

George shrugged. “I imagine it would get worse. But I didn’t see anyone punching each other …”

“But the bottle,” Hermione piped up. “The way it spun …”

“It was enchanted to find soulmates,” George said. “So, yes, feel free to thank me.”

“I’m still not sure about that,” Hermione said, but she slumped back into Harry’s arms and a small smile crossed her face.

“It’s fine,” George said. “You can thank me by making me best mate at your wedding.” He walked across the room to head to the kitchen.

“What?” Ron said. “I’m the best mate at their wedding!” He hurried after his brother, as Hermione tilted her head to look at Harry.

“So it wasn’t a love potion,” she said thoughtfully.

He stared down at her. He loved spending time with Ron, but he couldn’t wait to get her back to his place tonight. He thought of the scarves he had waiting — one for her eyes and one for each wrist and ankle, to keep her tied to the four poster — and the feathers to increase the pleasure, thanks to some advice from a book he had been given years back by Bill Weasley, and he smiled to himself just picturing it.

“What are you thinking, Harry Potter?” Hermione asked him. She lifted a hand to trace a circle around his lips and he leaned down and kissed her.

“Just how I much I love you,” he told her.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, good thing,” Hermione said. “Because I love you too and I plan on keeping you around forever.”

_Forever._

Harry smiled. He liked the sound of that.


End file.
